Snowflakes
by Ravenclaw Klainer
Summary: Some Wintry drabbles from the halls of Hogwarts. Various characters and pairings...I like reviews...
1. Chapter 1: Severus Snape

**AN: Hi there – this is the first of my nice, Christmassy drabbles scrawled down in some free time. So this one is Snily, and to be honest, I don't think they should've ended up together (without Lily/James we would have no Harry) but I do love Snape and I appreciate Snape/Lily so much. Enjoy Disclaimer: JKR owns Harry Potter. **

Snowflakes drifted past the dungeon windows, welcoming in a new December. The delicate flakes settled on the leafless tree skeletons and dusted the castle with an icy sugar coating. The potions master glared out of his office window. It was only a small window, but he could still see the thin layer of snow gathering on the stone ledge. With an agitated sigh, Professor Snape stood up from his desk, neglecting the essay he was marking on which his eyes would not focus. With one last glare at the white flurry, he drew a thick black curtain over the window, blocking out both the slowly building snowstorm and any low winter light that was filling his office. He was completely distracted by the snow. Not distracted like a child, eager for the snow to coat the ground enough to make snow angels and not eager like his many students, all desperate for an excuse to not do any Herbology work. As he searched for a candle to light up his office, Severus Snape tried to block out the memories like he had done the view. But there would be no thick black curtain to hide his mind from that day many years ago. Having found one, Severus lit the candle before sinking into his hard-backed chair, allowing her to fill his mind's eye.

"_Severus, look! Look it's snowing!" Lily pointed excitedly out of the window, where indeed the first snow drift of the year could be seen. Severus smiled slightly at the child that had come to life in Lily's beautiful green eyes._

"_You can't be _that _fascinated, Lily," he stepped over to join her at the library window, "I mean, it's not like you've never seen snow before. Aren't we a bit old to get excited about it?" Lily turned to him, put a hand on his shoulder and said rather solemnly "One is never too old for snow." Unable to hold her serious demeanour any longer, Lily dissolved into giggles. She grabbed Severus' hand and turned on her heel towards the library door. "Come on, let's go outside!" Severus marvelled at how warm her hand felt in his, and allowed himself to be dragged from the safety of his books._

"_Isn't it beautiful?" Lily gushed as they stood by the lake. Severus could not have been paying less attention to the scenery: instead he was taking in the way the white flakes landed gracefully on her head, looking very pretty in contrast with the rich, dark red of her windswept hair. _

"_Oh, yeah," he said, snapping back to reality, "You do remember that you've seen Hogwarts in winter before, right? Last year, and the year before?" Lily dismissed this with a wave of her gloved hand._

"_That was twelve months ago. And anyway," she smiled putting out her hand to catch the flakes "No two snowflakes are the same." Severus couldn't help but want to throw his arms around her and never let her go. She was so beautiful, and unique and kind. He longed for the day she would look at him and he would see love in her eyes instead of the brotherly affection they bore in the present. "I think I'll finish admiring this from the common room," she said, rubbing her arms, "I'm awfully cold and no matter how much it snows, I've still got History of Magic tomorrow and an essay that won't write itself!" She started back towards the castle, waving and smiling at him warmly as she left. Severus sighed, staring desperately after her retreating figure._


	2. Chapter 2: Neville Longbottom

**AN: This Christmassy drabble is about Neville, set in the first year. Neville is my favourite character and I love him. So, read, review (because reviews are like Christmas presents) and enjoy Disclaimer: JKR owns Harry Potter. **

The air was thick with frozen breath as the students unloaded from the scarlet steam train. Parents gathered on the platform fully clad in hats, coats and scarves. Neville Longbottom bundled off of the train, one hand dragging his heavy school trunk, the other clutched around his struggling pet toad. He took in a deep, chilly breath as he spotted the harsh looking woman with a fox skin draped around her neck. Next to her stood a balding, round faced man with a thick mousy moustache – Neville's uncle Algie. Uncle Algie drove Neville and his gran to Kings' Cross in September, and Neville was glad he had come to pick him up.

"Neville," his gran barked, startling him so he dropped Trevor, his toad, "Hurry up, I'm too cold." Neville picked up his toad and trundled towards her.

"Why aren't you wearing your gloves?" Neville glanced down at his hands almost blue with cold.

"Oh," he said, "I forgot them."

Uncle Algie had an old car with creaking leather seats. Neville sat awkwardly in the back with his trunk balanced on his knees.

"So, Neville," Uncle Algie said with an air of wanting to break the stifling silence, "Gryffindor! Well done – your parents would've been proud. They were Gryffindors too, you know." Neville gave a sheepish grin.

"How embarrassing it would have been if he'd been sorted into Hufflepuff," Neville's gran said haughtily. He sunk deep into his seat, his cheeks reddening (he decided not to tell his gran that he had asked the Hat to sort him into Hufflepuff).

"What subjects do you like Neville?" Uncle Algie made another stab at conversation.

"Herbology's my favourite," he said immediately, "I'm not bad either. Professor Sprout really likes me." Gran made another snorting noise.

"Herbology!" she said with a slight chuckle, "That's a weakling's subject, Neville. Why couldn't you be good at a decent one like Transfiguration? Or maybe even Defence Against the Dark Arts like your father. He was brilliant you know. I do think you should be more like him, Neville. Then again, I suppose we were lucky you were magical at all! Being talented was asking for a bit much!" This was hard for Neville. He hated being compared to his father at the best of times: it always made him feel so inferior. It appeared Gran was not finished.

"And think about it," she went on, "Herbology is only an option for about half the year when the plants are in bloom. What've you been doing when the greenhouses are snowed over? Not a very trustworthy choice. Now, a nice sturdy potions lesson wouldn't be put off for a bit of ice would it?" Neville sat up a little straighter.

"I go to the library and read," he said, "I found a book called _The Handbook for Herbologists: Healing and Treating with Plant Life. _It's really interesting. It tells you all about the different plants and what they can be used to cure. I've learnt a lot."

"Well," Gran peered round at him with narrowed eyes, "I want you to put down your Herbology books and read about a better subject. I want you to become something in life Neville, and not a silly plant-lover. That would never make your parents proud." Glaring at his shoes, Neville could not help but hope his parents wouldn't mind.


	3. Chapter 3: Oliver Wood

**AN: Not so much Christmassy as wintry, but it fits the name all the same. Enjoy and remember, I don't own Harry Potter.**

The game was not looking good for Gryffindor: Slytherin were ahead by sixty points and it seemed definite that they would win. The conditions were terrible. A blizzard so strong you could barely see a foot ahead of you raged over the game. Oliver watched in horror as an opposing beater whacked a bludger at Katie Bell, knocking her clean off her broom. One of the Slytherin chasers swept down and snatched up the quaffle Katie had dropped before shooting towards Oliver like a silver and green missile, blurred terribly by the whirling snow storm. Oliver prepared himself to make a save. The chaser got ever closer as the seconds ticked by, but all Oliver could do was squint determinedly at the attacker. Fred Weasley, who had been about to unseat the oncoming chaser with another bludger, was all of a sudden falling from his own broom (the Slytherin keeper had left his post to fly straight into the side of Fred). Oliver cursed. Why had Madam Hooch not called a foul? That collision was clearly against the rules! Maybe she couldn't see through the snow. Oliver turned back just in time to see the Slytherin chaser hurl the quaffle towards the goal post. Bracing himself, Oliver was suddenly caught off guard as a wave of heat washed over his hands. Then Oliver's broom handle caught fire. With a yelp, he let go of the broom, now only holding on with his legs. George Weasley flew underneath Oliver to catch him if he fell, but ended up smashing straight into the goal hoop with a painful-sounding crunch. Oliver did not know what was happening with the rest of the game. Had the Slytherin chaser scored? Probably. Oliver didn't care (and this was saying something). His broom was on fire. But the snow swirled around him without mercy, and without melting against the fire. The flames stretched further down the handle, so far that Oliver had to shuffle back. Alicia Spinnet headed towards him to help, but a freak gust of wind blew her into the stands. Angelina Johnson followed suit but was attacked by a swarm of violent looking pixies. Finally, the last remaining team member, Harry Potter, shot down from where he had been hovering. He reached out to pull Oliver onto his broom but lost his balance and fell into the churning white. Oliver pushed himself right to the end of his broom to avoid the flames. And without warning, he was falling. Falling and falling lower and lower towards the hard ground...

Covered in cold sweat, Oliver sat bolt upright in his four-poster bed. A glance out the window revealed a layer of snow two inches thick covering the school grounds. With a shiver, Oliver remembered his dream. It was obvious that it had been a dream now. So many strange events happening in one game and all to the same team? That however, was irrelevant. Putting on a brave face, Oliver heaved himself out of bed and changed. Nothing, _nothing, _was stopping them winning the Quidditch cup this year. Not the Slytherins, not any freak accidents, and definitely not a bit of snow.


End file.
